


"Eleven hours of running after a single stag, isn't that a little excessive, even for you?"

by dornfelder



Series: Night and Morning [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornfelder/pseuds/dornfelder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Eleven hours of running after a single stag, isn't that a little excessive, even for you?"

**Author's Note:**

> written for merlin/arthur kiss meme II

**  
“Eleven hours of running after a single stag, isn't that a little _excessive_ , even for you?”    
**

  
“.. it's not as if you had anything better to do anyway,“ Arthur finishes smugly, turning right into the dimly lit corridor leading to his rooms.

If Merlin weren't devastatingly tired, he'd have an answer to that. As it is, he only mutters “Prat,” under his breath and trots after Arthur who doesn't show any sings of exhaustion after _fifteen hours_ of riding and hunting and chasing after deer through the undergrowth. Merlin stumbles over his feet every couple of steps. He only wants to go to bed and fall asleep. He bets he could fall asleep on his feet if only Arthur let him rest for a moment. But that's not likely; Arthur will request a hot bath, a decent meal and a thoroughly warmed bed, not to mention he'll provide Merlin with an endless list of chores he expects him to get done before lunch tomorrow.

The hallway in front of Arthur's quarters is dimly lit by a few isolated torches, flaring in the slight draught, casting bizarre shadows on the walls and the floor. There are no guards to be seen; they only guard the entrance to the west wing where the royal family resides, and the king's chambers, but not Arthur's.  
Everybody else is probably sound asleep, as Merlin wishes they were, too. They had to wake the stable hand on their return with lots of yelling and knocking so someone would take care of their horses. At least Arthur hasn't made Merlin do that all by himself, too.

Arthur opens the door and walks towards his bed, already shedding his leather harness and the riding boots on the way. Merlin closes the door and staggers over to the fireplace, dropping down to his knees, almost relieved – at least he doesn't have to _walk_ anymore – and starts stoking the fire. Since they've left the room with the light of dawn, there's no ember is left, and it takes a while to enkindle the flames. He can't use magic – Arthur's too close by, and Merlin's too tired to do it wordlessly. He'd end up conjuring a bonfire instead of sparks.

“... Merlin?”

“Mmh?” Merlin's not really listening, though, his attention caught by the tiny flame he's managed to procure, the only thing he's able to focus on at the moment. His body is leaden with its own weight, he feels gravity drag at him, drag him down. The bear rug in front of the fireplace feels pretty soft and comfortable under his hands.

There is a tentative pat to his shoulder. “Merlin.”

He looks up. Arthur's standing next to him, wearing only his loose, woollen shift.

“Go to bed, Merlin,” Arthur instructs, almost gently.

Merlin slowly gets to his feet.

“Go home, Merlin.”

“But...”

“Don't argue with me,” Artur says. “I don't need anything right now, go get some sleep.”

It's so unlike Arthur to say something like this, Merlin would be wary something else was going on if he weren't so knackered right now. As it is, he takes Arthur's words at face value, nods and turns around to leave the room.

Inevitably, he trips over one of Arthur's discarded boots, and if it weren't for Arthur's infallible reflexes, he'd probably break his neck tumbling to the ground. Arthur's pulls him up roughly, just when he's about to fall over, his hands clutching Merlin's upper arms with a bruising grip, like iron shackles around his biceps. They end up face to face, close to each other, and while Arthur's hands ease their tight hold, albeit fractionally, Merlin smiles drowsily. “Thanks.”

Arthur doesn't let go. He still looks at him while Merlin feels his eyelids droop.

Something soft and dry and a little chapped touches his lips.

Merlin blinks. Blinks again. Twice. Arthur's _really_ close, he realises with a hint of surprise.

“Did you just?...” he asks, suddenly much more awake and alert.

Arthur lets go of him and takes a step back. “No. Absolutely not.”

“But you just...”

“You're imagining things, Merlin. Now go to bed.” Arthur turns away and walks towards the bed, sliding under the covers without looking at Merlin, turning his back to him and burying himself under blankets and pillows until there's only the tiniest bit of his hair looking out.

Merlin's standing in the dark room, motionless. The fire's died down again, and the darkness is comfortable and the silence peaceful, broken only by the sound of Arthur's breathing, which somehow adds to the air of serene quiet all around.

It takes a while for Merlin's befuddled brain to come to a conclusion, but when it does, it start acting on its own, ordering his limbs to move without Merlin even realising. He knows he doesn't give his hands permission to unlace his jacket and shed his neckerchief, boots and breeches until he's down to only shirt and loincloth. Of course, he never intends for his hands to lift the blanket and for himself to slide into Arthur's bed, edging carefully towards the middle where Arthur is lying on his side, or to press himself against Arthur's broad, curved back, or for his lips to attach themselves to Arthur's bare shoulder, tasting warm, salty skin, open-mouthed and dry, and most definitely not for his arm to curl around Arthur's waist and pull him just the tiniest bit closer. No, Merlin most certainly doesn't approve of any of this, and if he had any energy left, he'd object strenuously.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, bemused, but he's not pulling away, and not kicking Merlin out of his bed either.

“Y'said I should go to bed,” Merlin's mouth murmurs completely without his assent. “Didn't say _where_.”

“ _Idiot_ ,” Arthur mutters back, and that's the last thing Merlin hears, giving in to the tug of blessed unconsciousness.

~ fin ~


End file.
